


Beyond Merlin

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Merlin (TV), The British royal family (RPF)
Genre: Arthur and Merlin really play polo against the crown princes of England, F/M, Gen, This is an addendum to the TV show Merlin, This would probably be considered a crack fic, and also polo, and then it morphed into something crazy that contains real royal personages, because it should NOT have ended the way it did, just because of that, my friend agrees with me which is how this story started, no that is not a typo in the summary of this work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been 1500 years since Arthur Pendragon breathed his last, and his devoted friend and servant still hopes for him to return. But Merlin has created his own life now, and there may not be an easy way to crown Arthur if he manifests himself. There may also be trouble brewing with the descendants of the current holder of the British crown.</p><p>(In other words, Arthur is forced to play in a polo match against Prince Charles and his son Harry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a collaboration that I began in 2013 with the aid of my best buddy C.S.A who wrote the first chapter of this story. I only added to it. I must thank him for his brilliant jumping-off point that began a mad, mad story that I've enjoyed writing. Every bit.

Merlin sat behind his dusty desk, counting rusty coins and paper bills, and putting them away into a nearly empty grimy drawer in his deserted shop. The drawer was always barren now seeing how the newest craze, online shopping, and advances in medicine had practically driven old medicine shops like this to extinction. Merlin hadn’t had a new customer in almost three months, and these days his supply of superstitious old ladies that still believed that putting a few odd herbs in their afternoon tea would actually extend their lives by a few days was dwindling. Every now and then Merlin put a good health enchantment on the herbs just to keep them around but now even that didn’t seem to be working.

Many of the shops that neighbored his had recently come into hard times. Several had even shut down or moved closer to the city where they might have more luck and Merlin was starting to consider joining them or just give up on the whole shop idea in general. He had been running this little store for about 50, pushing 60, years now, changing his appearance twice and putting up a façade of buying it from himself. It was tricky magic, projecting a doppelganger and holding up a disguise, but it was necessary to keep suspicion off him. 

He currently looked like he did in his first century, very young, almost like he was still in his twenties. It was a habit of his, coming back to this look. He tried never to come back to the same look twice; it was just easier that way and ever since they invented that damn photograph there was always the looming fear that someone would recognize him. Maybe it was nostalgia; maybe it was a longing for simpler times and old friends. But deep down he knew it was because there was always the off chance Merlin could run into him.

Long ago he thought he would come back. He was supposed to unite the lands and bring peace. But then he left and did not return. Merlin consulted the secret prophets, the fallen gods, the new high priestess, the druid seers, anyone he could turn to for advice in the old religion. Every answer came back the same: He is the Once and Future King and he will come again. Well it had been 1500 years, years of roaming around from place to place; wandering all of Europe looking for his king and nothing. Merlin was done waiting and it was time to get on with his life. Which is why he had opened this shop.

The rusty bell above the door rang and the door swung open. At first Merlin instinctively reached under his desk where he had stored Mrs. Smith’s weekly package of tea leaves that he had gone and collected yesterday, but then he remembered that he had yet to ring her to tell her that he had it. Merlin glanced up at the rain soaked figure that was inspecting some plants growing under the window.  
Merlin cleared his throat, “Hello, can I help you?” The stranger jumped, almost dropping the jar that he was holding. 

“Sorry sorry, I was just looking at these medicines,” came a deep man’s voice from under his cloak. He placed the jar carefully back on the shelf and tuned to face Merlin, whipping the hood off of his face as he did so, “I’m looking for a quick remedy for a cold. My grandmother absolutely INSISTED that I come here.”

Merlin almost gasped but kept his composure. This boy was the spitting image of his king, from his messy blond hair to the stupid-looking pout that he always wore. “Just a coincidence,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” 

“Nothing, nothing, And just who happens to be your grandmother by the way? I don’t get many customers in an old shop like this you know.”

“Mrs. Gaprendon. She has a whole cabinet devoted to those funguses you sell her. I personally don’t believe in all that hocus pocus stuff but she refused to get me any real medications until I came here.”

“I see. A cold you say? I think I know what to get you. Come into the back and I’ll put on a pot of tea.” Merlin motioned toward the little door leading to the kitchen in his living space.

“Sorry I don’t drink tea.” The boy motioned to leave but Merlin stopped him.

“The tea isn’t for you, you clot pole! It’s to make steam to clear up your nose. I’m going to crush some of these Echinacea petals for you to eat. It’s an old trick I learned from the Chinese. 100 percent guaranteed to work I promise.”

“Ok but how much is it? I haven’t got a ton of money on me.”

“Oh don’t worry about that; I’ll charge it to your gran’s bill the next time she comes round.”

“Sweet! You’re not too bad you know. What did you say your name was?”

“Merlin.”

The young man looked surprised.

“Merlin? That’s an unusual name. I’m Arthur. It’s funny actually; I used to have a good friend by that name a long time ago. A long long long time ago.” This time Merlin really did gasp. He dropped his flower and just stared at the boy. “Merlin you idiot! The last fifteen centuries haven’t helped your coordination, I see.” 

Merlin didn’t hear him. He couldn’t even speak. He rushed around the counter and embraced his old friend as tightly as he was able. Arthur looked at him with the smile he always had whenever he felt he was being clever, but Merlin just drank it in with disbelief, happy that he had come back after all those years. 

“Okay you can get off now Merlin,” Arthur laughed and Merlin let go, but cautiously, still afraid that this was some sick joke and that Arthur would slip away from him at any moment. Again.

“I can see you’re still a prat.” Merlin said through the tears running down his cheeks. He laughed awkwardly and then composed himself. “Where have you been? I searched everywhere.”

“Honestly I don’t know. The last thing I remember is you and me in the woods running from Morgana. And you stopped her…” He looked at Merlin with squinted eyes, “with magic! I remember that you were the Sorcerer! But after that I remember waking up on an Island and there was an ancient woman, who I expect was part of the Old Religion, that told me I had to seek you out and told me where I could find you. She also explained that it was the year 2013 and told me a bit of what I should expect. These wagons are magnificent! You don’t even need horses and they go so fast!”

“You should see the airplanes. They’re able to fly! No magic involved I promise. It’s amazing what the mortals are able to do without magic. They even have cell phones—err, little boxes that they can use to talk to each other from far away.” Arthur looked at him funny.  
“What do you mean without magic? Did the kingdom not accept the old religion when I died? I would have thought with me gone and no one to take my throne your people would have come in victoriously.”

Merlin sighed, thinking of the aftermath of the final battle against Morgana and Mordred.

“After Gwen found out you had been killed in battle, she adopted yours and your father’s policies against magic users and the old religion. Morgana and her magic was the breaking point.”

At the mention of his queen Arthur paled and became rather stoic. “I can’t believe that since I woke up I haven’t given one thought to Gwen.” He paused for a minute and looked like he was trying to dislodge something from his teeth.

“Did she ever…” he began, “get married again?” Merlin thought for a second.

“Yes, sire, I believe she did but after many years. They had a little boy who grew up and became king after Gwen passed away. She had a long and happy life and ruled as the most just queen in the history of England. Their son, of course, was named Arthur. Arthur the Second he was crowned.” Arthur seemed pleased to hear this. Merlin continued his tale.

“I never went back to Camelot although Gaius came around to visit me with news every so often. I retired myself to an abandoned castle and practiced my magic. I became a sort of silly superstition, then so did Gwen, and then so did you. The world forgot about us, about Morgana, about the old religion entirely so I set off looking for you. Eventually I even gave that up and came here.” Arthur leaned against a table and crossed his arms as he listened to Merlin’s words.

“The Old Religion, however, did not die when you did. They left the kingdom and went into hiding. Most of the druids were afraid to even come close to Camelot after what happened with Morgana. Everyone knew it was your destiny to unite them with the rest of the world and they were perhaps more devastated at the news of your death than many and so they just left. I can only think of a few who are left today.” Standing upright once more, Arthur began to pace.

“So is that still the plan then? I still have this great destiny to save the world? I just want you to know I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing since I’m no longer king.”

“I don’t know either, but if I learned anything in the past 1500 years it’s that you can’t escape destiny so whatever it is, it will present itself eventually.”

Merlin looked down at his desk and then looked at his lost king again. He had no clue what they were supposed to do. And to be honest he didn’t care. All he knew was that they were together again and this time there wouldn’t be any Sorceress or evil knights that could take Arthur away from him. And for the first time in 1500 years, Merlin was happy.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur and Merlin sat for ages in the back room of Merlin’s little shop, Merlin going over the last 1500 years as quickly and coherently as he could. Arthur didn’t say much, at least until Merlin came to the Great Wars. Then he was interested, asking who’d fought with whom, and who had won. He was satisfied that the Saxons, now called Germans apparently, had lost both of the wars to Britain and its allies. He WASN’T happy, however, when he learned that no one fought with swords or crossbows anymore. Since the Chinese invented gunpowder, 

“Everyone cheated!” Arthur said. “And they didn’t even use typical sorcery to do it, the way you beat me on the day we met, Merlin.”

“I could’ve beaten you without my sorcery,” Merlin protested. His friend raised an eyebrow.

“Really? You want to give it a go?” He made as if to swipe at Merlin with one fist and the sorcerer immediately leaned back in his chair and fell off of it onto the floor. “For goodness’ sake, Merlin! Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I didn’t. Dollop head.” The warlock grumbled, dusting himself off. Arthur laughed and Merlin grinned sheepishly. He couldn’t stay angry with Arthur after all these years. Especially since Arthur had finally thanked him in the end…. “D’you remember the last thing you said to me?” Merlin asked finally, glancing at Arthur sidelong. The king snorted derisively.

“‘Course I do. Don’t you?”

“Nah,” Merlin shook his head quickly, looking down.

“Come on, you really don’t remember the last thing I ever said to you? I’m insulted, Merlin!”

“Well, you were never that interesting.”

“Fine. I’ll tell you what I remember,” Arthur rolled his eyes and became serious as he leaned forward. “I said that—that I finally understood why you’d done what you did without my knowledge. I thanked you for the kingdom that you helped me build. And,” He cleared his throat and worked his jaw with eyes glistening—were those tears in them? Before continuing—“I told you I didn’t want you to change. I wanted you to always be you.” Arthur stood up and walked over to his friend. “Do you truly not remember that?” Merlin smiled mischievously and raised his head.

“Oh I remember it clear as day; I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Merlin!” Arthur gave his friend an affectionate noogie with a side-hug thrown in for good measure, before becoming serious once more. “I meant it, you know. Every word.”

“I know you did. And I’m grateful.” The two men are quiet for several minutes, and then Merlin says, “We both need food and rest. Tomorrow morning I’ll have come up with some ideas to rebuild Camelot in the 21st century. Deal?”

“Deal,” Arthur replied, grasping his friend’s forearm in thanks. “I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.” Merlin grinned charmingly at Arthur.

“What makes you think I didn’t give up on you? I figured that since you hadn’t come back for 1500 years you had doubtlessly gotten lost. Thus I decided to live my own life the way I wished.” Merlin gestured around the room for emphasis. Arthur glared at him.

“I wasn’t lost! You’re just a terrible hunter!”

“True. It is great to see you, though.”

“You too.” Pause. “Aren’t you going to make me a bed?”

“I figured you’d want to take over my room since I’m your servant.”

“No, Merlin,” Arthur sighed expansively and put up his hands. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re in charge this go round. You’re the master sorcerer who’s been here for a while, remember? Just give me a pile of blankets and I’ll kip down here.” He gestured at a low bench. Merlin looked at his friend askance, but then his face brightened, and he laughed.

“Oho, you’re joking with me! I see. Fine. I’ll bring you a sack filled with moldy straw for a pillow.”

“If that’s all you’ve got…”

“No, it’s not. This is bloody rubbish.” Merlin was amazed Arthur STILL didn’t understand his sense of humor. He muttered a complicated-sounding spell, and a comfortable bed with plump pillows appeared. “There. Good night, Arthur.” Arthur is nonplussed. He walks around the bed, agog. Finally he has the presence of mind to reply,

“’Night, Merlin. Sleep well.” As the warlock turned away, Arthur wasn’t sure he correctly heard the reply:

"I will now that you're here."


	3. Chapter 3

The following morning, as Merlin descended the ladder-like steps from his flat above the store, he saw Arthur sprawled shirtless across the bed. His face was smashed into a pillow, and for some reason this sight gave Merlin immense pleasure. How many times had he come into his king’s room to open the shutters and greet the day, finding him grouchy and unresponsive? On this day, though, he is just grateful to see his friend again. With a hop, skip, and a jump, Merlin smacks Arthur on the head and opens the back door to bring forth a breeze.

“Rise and shine, it’s a beautiful day! The sun is shining, the grass is green, and we are going to—” The excitement is cut off abruptly when Arthur flings a pillow at Merlin’s face. He is barely able to catch it after it slams into him, causing Arthur to grin, before he gets up and grips Merlin by the shoulders.

“I am very glad to be with you, Merlin. But I swear to all the gods—whenever I hear the words ‘rise and shine!’ I want to kill you.”

“That’s what I’m here for, sire, endless entertainment and annoyance.”

“I’LL say,” Arthur grumbles. “One thing about this century,” he mused while putting on his shoes—trainers, they’re called— “is that the attire is MUCH easier to put on. I am actually able to clothe myself properly on my own!” He leaps up and grins at Merlin with pride. Merlin has to bite his lip to keep from laughing aloud. His friend’s shirt is half-tucked, and he could swear it was on backwards. Also,

“Your fly is open, Arthur,” Merlin murmurs. The king jumps and fixes it quickly before looking at his erstwhile servant with a stoic, blank expression on his face.

“Well? Shall we go somewhere? Have there been any extraordinary thoughts inside your head, Merlin? Any breakthroughs about how I shall once more be King?” Merlin’s face becomes serious at this comment. He seems lost in thought, which Arthur used to think was daydreaming, but knowing that Merlin is a sorcerer makes Arthur believe that there were—and are—many things going on in his friend’s head that could not be understood by non-magical folk.

“Well, I figure I shall have to take you sight-seeing, so that you can get used to this whole new world.” Suddenly he begins to sing: “‘A whole new world—a new fantastic point of view. No one to tell us no, or where to go, so I can see this whole new world with you…’”

“Merlin, what are you doing? Stop that. You’re freaking me out.”

“Sorry. It’s Disney. Very pervasive in this time period, even over here. It began as this one-man corporation in America; now it seems to own the entire world.” With that comment, Merlin grabs his jacket and jogs to the front of the store. “C’mon, Arthur! Last one to the end of the road is a turnip head!”

The two of them ended up in a café somewhere after Arthur first caught sight of a television. He was mesmerized. And no wonder; not only had he been ‘dead’ for the past 1500 years, but this contraption was nowhere in the minds of men during his time. Extremely captivated by the news, he watched the royal scandals with increasing intensity and horror, before bursting out with:

“What kind of rubbish is this?!” rather loudly, an uncommon occurrence in this part of Britain, which was mostly populated by old folks who’d seen it all and rarely shouted, so Merlin muttered that Arthur may want to quiet down. “Like hell I’ll quiet down. Do you believe this, Merlin? What the world has come to after 1500 years?! How am I to be the king I’m meant to be, if I have to contend with—with this?” An ‘indecent’ picture of Kate Middleton had just flashed upon the screen. “The Royal Family has no true power in this day and age. What has happened to our country? How could we have possibly fallen so far from the glory of Camelot to this???”

“I don’t know, sire,” Merlin bit his lip. “But I don’t think it will be solved by shouting. Queen Elizabeth II has done a lot for Britain in her younger years…”

“And now that she is old Parliament thinks it can just toss her to the side like the greasy rag from a packet of fish and chips?” Arthur shook his head. “No. I refuse to believe that someone as capable as she seems to have been can just sit down and watch bureaucracy destroy her beloved country. I must speak to her.” He stands up, resolute. Merlin’s heart swells to see it, even as he tries to hide his shock.

“What? Arthur, you can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am. Set up a meeting with her, Merlin. You’re a sorcerer. Isn’t that something your kind can do?”

“I’m not sure that is the correct approach, sire, but I shall do my best to provide an audience for you.” Arthur nodded in approval. 

As they left, Merlin was thinking: How in the world am I supposed to gain an audience with the QUEEN?

But he did; and to this day, no one knows for sure how he managed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter you may notice that Merlin sings a wonderful song from the movie Aladdin. I really hope Disney doesn't freak out about me quoting it (sorry Disney), but it's a gorgeous song and everyone knows that I don't own it anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

“Your Majesty, I wish to make a statement, if you wouldn’t mind.” The queen nods graciously and motions for Arthur to continue. He stands up and resolutely walks into the center of the enormous room before speaking. “Why on earth are the royal family considered to be ‘figureheads’? The state is not the mast of a ship, no matter what idiomatic homo-syncretic whatever-it-is people say about it—this is a country. We must defend ourselves from ignorance as much as from outside enemies. Ignorance and meek acceptance of the complete and utter change of ideals is WRONG. To put it simply, my queen, the role of a monarch has been around for centuries. 1500 years ago when King Arthur reigned—” There is a snicker and some throat-clearing in the audience, but Arthur chooses to ignore it. He is on a roll. “The King and the Knights of Camelot were equal to each other at the Round Table. Whether you were rich or poor, noble or not, you were welcome at King Arthur’s palace. He followed rules, but gave orders justly and well. If Parliament does not let its monarch rule with honor and good intent, it shuts away the purest ideal worth fighting for: the people’s freedom. What does it look like to your thousands of citizens when they see you on the television box simply waving, basking in the sun, or walking about the palace without giving orders to guards or Parliament men…?”

“Now just a minute, young man!” a lord interrupted. “How on earth could something as simple as that be helpful?” Arthur gives him a cool stare.

“Because, my good man, it assures the people that they are under the care of a strong leader, who will do anything to keep their country safe and secure under the current rule.” With a slight bow to the queen, Arthur retires to stand next to Merlin, who is in awe. Arthur glances over at his old friend and Merlin smiles and nods just a bit. He has never been prouder of Arthur than he is at this very moment. Even speaking in front of Merlin’s home village hadn’t moved him this much. The battles they had fought must have endured in Arthur’s head for 1500 years, just as they’d remained in Merlin’s. Did he ever run scenarios in his head, debating whether another one would’ve worked? Or was Merlin just odd? Doubtlessly it was the latter, yet he couldn’t help thinking that Arthur was well on his way to becoming wise. He’d best be careful, or there would be no further use for Merlin himself! Breaking into this train of thought, Arthur whispered,

“How was that? Did I do all right?”

“You were great. You shook them up a bit. I think that man you spoke to may have pissed his pants.” The lord in question was glaring balefully at Arthur while speaking quietly to the queen.

“Who is he, anyway?” Arthur grumbled in annoyance.

“He’s—” suddenly Queen Elizabeth II spoke.

“Arthur Gaprendon of Wales,” –-which is where Merlin had told the queen they were from, in order to avoid awkward questions about Camelot—“I am requested by my son, Prince Charles, to battle you in single combat…” Swords, Arthur is thinking. Perfect. I’ve got this. “…in which your rudeness towards him shall be remedied by playing the great sport of polo.” POLO?!? What the hell is polo??? Arthur’s mind is screaming, while outwardly he bows calmly and says,

“And when is this feat of arms to take place?” Some less polite lords snickered, and Merlin glared at them while his mind was feverishly trying to remember anything he’d ever learned about the sport of polo. It wasn’t much. As you may have guessed, Merlin is not much for feats of strength or coordination, unless one counts sorcery. The queen gives her reply, which the warlock doesn’t register, and departs. Arthur and his erstwhile servant begin the long walk out of Buckingham Palace. “Merlin,” Arthur finally said, “What on earth is polo?” Merlin shook his head and sighed heavily.

“I wish I knew, sire…I wish I knew.”

***

After feverishly researching the ‘gentleman’s sport’ of polo, Merlin had come up with some unsettling observations;  
1) Each team required four ‘combatants’ as it were, and at the moment they were two short  
2) Matches are separated into “chukkas” which normally last 7 minutes, and there are 8 in a game; equaling 56 minutes total  
3) There are intervals between the chukkas as well as a 5 minute halftime, which will be disconcerting to Arthur as he is used to continuous fighting for short spans of time  
4) Dangerous play, such as roughhousing, coming towards another player’s horse at an angle, or swinging one’s stick over the opponent’s back, is strictly prohibited and results in a foul; another problem for Arthur as he is used to fighting with swords  
5) When a player is in the ‘Right of Way’ and is attempting to score a goal, defenders cannot be closer than 30 yards to him

As Arthur speedily pointed out after Merlin told him these things:

“This is absolute rubbish, Merlin! These pampered princes have no idea what a true feat of arms is. I doubt any of these Nancy boys have ever held a sword in their entire lives—much less strapped on armor.”

“That’s not the biggest problem for us, Arthur. We have to play. It’s a breach of honor to refuse a prince’s challenge or to change it. We have not enough people for a team, and I can think of no one else to play with us.”

“Yes, I realize that, Merlin.” Arthur begins to pace. “Can’t you just…I dunno…magic up some allies for us?”

“That isn’t how my sorcery works.” Merlin sighs. He thought for a moment. “I wonder, though….” Along with his ages of searching for Arthur, Merlin had also kept an eye out for the knights. Each of them was so loyal to their king, he was sure they’d show up when Arthur did. The problem was, no one but Lancelot ever knew aught of Merlin’s magic, so he doubted they would know to come here. It was worth a shot, however. One knight he was sure of: Gwaine, who had told Percival that he had failed in his mission to protect Arthur. If Merlin knew anything about destiny, he was positive that Gwaine would return to fulfill his promise. After concisely explaining this to Arthur, the warlock smiled. He knew exactly where to look.

***

In a modern-day tavern, a scruffy young man with shoulder-length dark hair—which was normally soft and flowing yet is now stringy and lank—worked his way through another pint of ale. He had no idea what else to do. After he’d failed in a big way, he was sure that his boss had sent him to this place for punishment. Why else would he be forced into these ridiculous clothes and into this absurd atmosphere where nothing made sense? Even in the tavern there was a talking box, and it made his head hurt to watch it for more than a few moments. He was sprawled on a bench in the side room, brooding, when a shadow crossed his table.

“For the last time, I don’t need a tab!” The young man exploded, pounding his fist on the table without looking up. “I’m sick of this land, and tired of your words that don’t make sense. Why must you torture me? I don’t know what a tab IS for the king’s sake, and I don’t even want to be here!”

“Good,” came a familiar voice from above his head, “Because we’ve come to get you out.” A young man with short dark hair, blue eyes, and a wide smile was standing over him. Behind him stood another man, with blond hair and a strong chin…. It couldn’t be.

“Rise, Sir Gwaine,” said the second familiar voice with a chuckle. “At least, if you can.” Gwaine, for that’s who it was, grinned and leapt to his feet.

“Thanks to the old gods and the new for you two! Merlin, what took you so long? My lord King Arthur,” Gwaine attempted to kneel, but swayed sickeningly instead, and both men grabbed him under the arms.

“Whoa there, steady my friend. How many drinks have you had?” Merlin questioned.

“Err…about a dozen. In the last hour.” Shock crosses Merlin’s face and Arthur looks grim.

“C’mon, Gwaine, we’ll take you to my shop.”

“You have a shop, Merlin? When I died where did I go to?” he joked.

“Exactly what I’ve been asking myself,” Arthur mutters.

“Hey!” Merlin protested. “Besides, neither of you are dead.”

“What?” Gwaine looks extremely confused, though not as confused as the bartender was when he saw the others leading the drunk man out.

“Oi! That sot hasn’t paid me an’ he won’t open a tab neither! Says he don’t know what it is…” Merlin lifted his hand a bit and muttered something. The bartender’s eyes clouded and he said, “O’ course. Be on yer way, good sirs.” Then he dreamily turned away to wash some glasses. Gwaine was dumbfounded.

“What on earth was that?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain later,” Merlin said quickly, “when you’re not quite so plastered.”

“A’right. I’m gonna hold you to that,” Gwaine slurred, before going slack. Arthur immediately hefted him over his shoulder as they pressed on toward Merlin’s herb shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my grasp of the rules of polo is limited, as well as my concept of how the game is played (Which you will see in the following chapters) but I wanted to make it interesting and slightly! informative at least. So I looked up the rules on the Hurlingham Polo website.


	5. Chapter 5

It was easier to tell Gwaine than Merlin had expected. Perhaps since he’d already told Arthur in his first century of life the novelty had worn off. Perhaps it was because Arthur backed him up. Or perhaps it was because Gwaine was so easygoing he believed Merlin’s story in a second, with nary a murmur of disbelief.

“You’re a sorcerer. Of course. I should’ve realized you were the minute I met you.”

“Why?”

“Well, it was obvious Arthur didn’t keep you around for being good at anything.” Gwaine grinned. Arthur laughed, and Merlin scowled. “Aw, c’mon buddy, I’m just teasing you! You’re good at something, obviously. You’re good at making friends who can help you. Why, if it wasn’t for me and Arthur…”

“All right all right, Gwaine, that’s enough. You’ve offended him. Merlin, since you know the most about this century, explain to Gwaine and me the purpose of this battle of polo.”

“And more to the point, what should we wear? If you’re right, I’ve been outta these looks for more than a century. I’ll have to break them in with the girls at court!” Gwaine winked and tossed his hair. Merlin tried not to smile. 

"I'll think of something, for sure."

***

All the members of the British court turned out bright and early on the polo grounds the next day. Prince Charles had let the rumor spread widely that he was going to play against someone who had challenged his right to be king and to rule as he wished. He had enlisted his younger son, Prince Harry, as well as two athletic lords, to be his teammates. Everyone knew Harry was the sportsman of the family, so that was no surprise. What WAS surprising, however, was the event that occurred after Arthur and his team entered.

A hush came over the assembled throng as three well-dressed young men appeared with sports bags and sticks over their arms. The young ladies in the crowd nearly swooned at the sight, and even the queen nodded her approval. Arthur was the first to bow to her.

“Good day, Your Majesty,” he said. “I trust you are well?”

“Indeed I am; thank you, Mr. Gaprendon. Are these your players?”

“Yes, Majesty. May I present Gwaine—” the erstwhile knight bowed “—and Merlin, whom you have already met.”

“We are acquainted.” She gave Merlin a sly tiny wink, which he returned. Just then, Charles and his son Harry rode up. They had been prancing about on their horses a distance away, until Charles realized that the Queen had so far upstaged him. As was her right, of course. However, he wanted to take the opportunity to put this upstart peasant in his place.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the Welsh commoner who wishes to ‘clash arms’ against me,” Charles snorted snottily. “I fear he will be sorely disappointed that is not the POINT of polo.” Some titters from the audience before he speaks again. “But this will not do, Your Majesty,” the crown prince turns, addressing the queen. “As they have only three players, and since it is neither winter, nor do we have foul weather, I am afraid that they must forfeit.” A groan goes up from the stands. Merlin grits his teeth and Gwaine is about to stride forward and knock the smug smarmy prince from his horse…

“Father, wait!” A young man’s voice called. From the first row of seats rose a thin man, taller than Arthur, with a thatch of thinning slightly unruly light brown hair and a wide smile, which he directed towards a pretty brunette woman sitting next to his now vacant place. Striding down from the bleachers and stopping before the queen, he bowed, and then said, “I will play with them.” Turning to Merlin and the others, he introduced himself. “I am Prince William, son of Charles and elder brother to Harry.” He shook hands with Merlin, Arthur, and Gwaine. “As this is a game of honor, I wish to be a gentleman and take this place to make the teams equal.” Addressing the three men as well as the crowd, he states, “I give my word that I will strive to beat the stuffing out of my brother and my father, though I am not a sportsman as Harry is.” There are real laughs from the audience at his words. The English people are fond of this man. Merlin eyes him with respect. He doesn’t go in much for modern politics, but if England were a democracy, William would have his vote. Arthur, however, is not convinced.

“Why, sir, do you wish to throw your lot in with us?” the Once and Future King cannot help being slightly hostile, and William notices this. Dipping his head a little, he says,

“It is because I believe you’re right. As a result of the royal family being figureheads, the paparazzi are not afraid of us. They scorn any consequence we give. It is because of them that my mother….” His voice grows husky with emotion before trailing off, choked with tears. Remembrance of and grief for Princess Diana’s death sweeps over her son anew. “…And now my wife, are hounded for their status. I seek to remedy this.” Merlin holds his breath as Arthur drinks in William’s words. After what seems like an eternity, his best friend solemnly nods.

“You are welcome, Majesty.” Arthur held out his hand again and William grasped it in thanks. “I assume that you wish to be captain?” The ancient king asked. The modern prince shook his head.

“No, my good man, that task is meant for you. It was your true words that sparked my father’s irrational anger.”

“Yeah, why IS your dad such an irascible arsehole?” Gwaine put in. Merlin closed his eyes in horror. William seemed to stiffen, and Arthur shot his erstwhile knight a warning look.

“Gwaine, mind your tongue; he is the prince.”

“So? Arthur, you’re a king, and I think we have a right to know why that P.C. s.o.b has no class whatsoever.” William took a short sharp breath.

“It’s all right. You pose a fair question. Death…changes people. Mum’s death worked differently on Dad, Harry, and me. Harry became rash as bacon and joined the Navy. I decided to search hard for love. And Dad—well, he wants strength. Power. Enough to stop pining for Mum, to forget to miss her. I believe that is one of the reasons he stepped out of his proper princely place to court and wed Camilla.” Sigh. “What bargain for power does he have now, though? Her Majesty detests Camilla, and while I do not feel the same, I can see her point. And if that wasn’t enough, and in this day it isn’t, most of the power rests in Parliament rather than in our monarchical hands.” William smiled, a bit bitterly, and so did Merlin. 

Is that what I’M doing? Arthur thinks. Searching for power in order to forget Gwen? He had told Merlin that he had barely thought about her…was he unconsciously at once pining for her and shutting her out? No. Arthur straightens and settles his shoulders decisively. He is doing this for her as well as for Camelot; to honor the land and the lady he loved.


	6. Chapter 6

***

The polo pitch is ready, and the four men have mounted their horses.

“Now Merlin, just try not to fall off,” Arthur says quietly to his former servant. “I really don’t want to be embarrassed today.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll be careful,” Merlin replies, immediately dropping his stick after situating himself on his saddle. Gwaine laughs and Arthur rolls his eyes. Merlin just hoped that neither Prince Charles’ team nor the crowd had seen. Although if anyone did spot Merlin’s mishap, he could potentially use his clumsiness to his advantage. “I’ve got this under control,” he promised Arthur, before careening forward as they heard the whistle blow.

The ball was placed on the ground, and the object of the game was to hit it into the goal of one’s opponent. However, the only way to do that was to lean far down over the flank of one’s horse and whack the ball with the stick. Passing was difficult unless you were very lucky or very good; Gwaine discovered this when he reached the ball first. Swinging his mallet like a sword, he chopped down and only managed to dislodge a large piece of turf while the sphere merely rolled forward a couple of millimeters. Great. Then Prince Harry was there, yelling, “Haaah!” at his horse and giving the ball a solid thwack! This sent it spinning over his brother’s head as he came up beside Gwaine.

“Don’t worry, you’ll soon get the hang of it,” William promised the knight. “Just bring your arm straight back from the ball before you hit it. That way your power will be head-on instead of sideways.” Gwaine grunted in acknowledgement of this before cantering away downfield.

Arthur was coming up on Harry, who had gotten the ball near the goal with three huge thwacks and his teammates were now moving into a flanking position to keep Gwaine and William from coming to help. Merlin had turned his horse too, but something was wrong with the right stirrup and untwisting it was taking him awhile. Arthur was about 40 yards from the goal, because he remembered Merlin’s instruction…although, since he wasn’t quite sure how big yards were, he also didn’t know if he was far enough away.  
Harry’s face was red with concentration—almost the same shade as his hair—and his companions were sneering at Arthur as they urged their horses forward. It was as if they meant to collide! They certainly had no intention of halting their onslaught. Arthur’s vision tunneled in on the ball and the stick in Harry’s hand. If he could just reach down and thump it….

Suddenly there was a blur of darkness in front of him as Merlin, MERLIN urged his horse in front of Harry’s. His stirrup was still flapping crazily and he was hanging far down the left flank of the horse, but this gave him a good shot at the ball in front of the Prince’s stick. Narrowing his eyes in concentration and clamping his tongue between his teeth, Merlin gripped his stick and swung it at the ball; however, he caught just underneath it, and though Harry’s horse had to canter away to keep from being struck by either Merlin’s mount or the ball’s trajectory, the athletic lords were still bearing down upon him. Merlin couldn’t get himself upright, and one of them could easily tip him completely off-balance if—but suddenly William was there, grabbing Merlin by the collar and hoisting him upwards, half on the Prince’s saddle and partly on his own horse. The lords had to halt in order to avoid a collision with the two of them, which gave Gwaine the chance to scoop the ball up from his place to the left of William, where it had landed. With a knightly yell, Gwaine pelted the ball downfield and urged his horse after it. Arthur followed behind, whooping madly, and Merlin managed to straighten in his saddle. He looked around blearily and nodded to the elder Prince in thanks. William smiled.

“You are welcome, my young friend. Tell me, why did you put yourself in front of my brother like that? It was very likely that you would have fallen from your steed and been trampled.”

“I was protecting my king,” Merlin muttered, before wincing at his words. He wanted to slap himself for his lack of caution, but the prince just chuckled.

“I understand. He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?” Merlin nods, his throat tight with emotion. He still remembered that horrible day when Arthur was taken from him, and there was no way for Merlin to stop it. All those centuries of waiting and hoping until the pain became so great it hurt too much to hope any more. And then when all seemed lost, he’d finally appeared…and Merlin WOULD NOT lose him again. Even in a stupid polo match, he was not going to let anyone touch his king, his friend; he would dive in front of all the lords of England to protect Arthur as he could not all those years ago. The look on his face tells William some of that, and he nods at the warlock in respect. “You are a good mate. Come on, we’d best get going, or I fear a foul will be called on Gwaine!” 

Right on cue, a whistle is blown, and Merlin sees Arthur grab the back of his knight’s shirt as he lunged forward, calling one of the lords a bunch of names that no one knew how to take. You try being insulted in 4th century terms and see if you can understand it!  
“Call a penalty! 50 yards!” Prince Charles was bellowing at the referee, who looked very confused. “That was unsportsmanlike conduct by that man! Aren’t you going to punish him?”

“Erm, well, begging your Majesty’s pardon, sir, it didn’t sound to me like he was saying anything bad. None of his words made much sense t’me, sir.”

“So? It was plainly uncomplimentary and I refuse to let this sort of behavior go unpunished.” William rolled his eyes and muttered,  
“Yeah, all right, Dad. What about all those times that Harry called ME names and you never did anything about it?” Merlin laughed before glancing again over at Gwaine, who now seemed contrite. Arthur was grasping his knight’s shoulders, probably giving one of those famous speeches of which Arthur was good at doing. The referee’s back had straightened and he walked to the center of the field before blowing his whistle once more.

“Unsportsmanlike conduct. Penalty on the defending side. Game play starts 30 yards out for penalty shot.” Merlin gasped in surprise and Prince Charles’ face became beet red. Harry, rather wisely, Merlin thought, brought his horse up to his father’s and spoke in an undertone. Prince Charles allowed himself to be led off. Prince William chuckled as he and Merlin hurried to rejoin their group.

“Gwaine, you’ll take the penalty shot, just try to keep a civil tongue in your head,” Arthur advised. He glanced over at Merlin. “You all right, my friend? That was quite a fall you nearly took back there.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Arthur. Luckily Prince William rescued me from the hooves of his brother’s horse.” Arthur shook his head at his servant and nodded at William in thanks.

“Sometimes Merlin’s such a clumsy buffoon I have no idea what to do with him!” Merlin rolled his eyes and the others laughed.  
“Well, Arthur, I’m not a complete idiot like SOME people—the first chukka is now over, after all, and we’ve got to prevent William’s father’s team from running all over us.”

“Which it looks like they plan to do,” Gwaine added, returning from his penalty shot. “If only I had my sword—” he breaks off as Merlin shoots him a warning look. William doesn’t seem to think strangely of this openly manifested wish, though.

“That may be a safe custom in Wales, my friend, but you’d best be careful here. You can be locked up for threatening a prince of the realm…even if we are useless in typical power standards.”

The second and third chukkas passed with two goals made by Prince Harry, who really does live up to his glorified reputation as a sportsman. Arthur has had enough. He became the best swordsman in Camelot, and he sure as hell can do this!

Gwaine tried his hardest to be civil, but he couldn’t help exchanging a few more angry words with one of the lords on Charles’ team. They actually landed some blows before Merlin—who had a way with horses—whistled and called Gwaine’s horse over to him.

Even though William said that he wasn’t a sportsman, he was pretty good at getting in front of and blocking Prince Harry. He started earnestly doing so in the fourth chukka. Probably since it was his brother he had less of a problem— “Come on, little brother, let’s see what you’re made of!” he laughed on more than one occasion. “Or is Daddy gonna have to come and help you out?” Harry shook his head with a tight little smile on his face. Arthur was actually chasing Prince Charles around the pitch at this point…he wasn’t going to let this pompous man insult him or his companions, no matter what reason the prince had for doing so.

Five chukkas down and there was a pretty nasty tussle between Arthur and Charles. Two more breaks and it’s down to the wire in the seventh chukka, England versus Wales. Lust for power versus the might of good, the rights of man. Merlin knows that they can beat this crown prince, but he doesn’t want to humiliate him; only to show that Arthur himself is in the right. He is focused upon that fact, now that he knows other members of the British nobility (i.e. Prince William) think as he does, and that the Brits aren’t out simply to humiliate the Welshmen and pound them into the pitch. Well, maybe Charles is. Merlin sees the man’s face change from red to white, an almost invisible fury that chills the warlock to his core. He could take it better when the crown prince was blustering and shouting; at least THEN you knew where you stood with him. But now…Merlin has begun compiling spells inside his head. There could be some trouble.

Arthur isn’t as attuned to the shift in Charles’s rage as Merlin is, but he knows that there is more to this game than simply beating Prince Charles by a certain number of points. There is something else—honor and goodness is at stake. It isn’t about England versus Wales anymore; this is about morals and dignity and monarchical right(s). The Once and Future King wants to stop the game and ask the British prince what he thinks about the Welshman’s words now, but he doubts that would go over very well—at least for the English people. The crowd is EXTREMELY invested in the match, chanting and screaming for the teams. Arthur has noticed that a good amount of the spectators are pulling for him, to his pleasure and surprise. There is a decidedly young and female portion of the crowd that is enamored with and swooning over Gwaine, but the king expects nothing less. He is slightly shocked—and pleased—moreover, to find that a lot of the citizens seem impressed with Merlin. They noticed his selfless attempt to protect Arthur early in the game, and ever since have been staunchly rooting for him. Something about the ridiculous idiocy and, yes, courage that his erstwhile servant exudes is powerful, palpable, and endearing to the onlookers. Whatever it is, it’s got them rooting for him, Arthur, the Welsh Once and Future King, who has at last come again and is doing his damndest not to lose this polo game! And also to recreate the kingdom of Camelot and fostering goodwill and equality under the just and strong rule of a king who desperately hopes that he knows what he’s doing...and whether it is even the right thing to do.


	7. Chapter 7

Not long after the (now infamous) polo match, Merlin began to have visions in his dreams; all was shrouded in mist and fog, impenetrable save by the use of his magic. He peered ahead, wishing for Arthur to appear wielding his sword and using it to brain somebody. Merlin never thought he’d enjoy that, but the constant fog is causing him anxiety. 

Instead of Arthur, Merlin spies a woman who is shrouded in more than mist—she seems to be a source of darkness…no, it can’t be—  
“Morgana,” Merlin whispered with his entire body tense and his fists clenched. “You should not be here. Not this time. I will not allow you to destroy Arthur’s life again.” He pivoted and began to walk away, trying his hardest not to show the shock that struck him to the core at her presence.

“Merlin,” Morgana said softly as he turned away from her, “Wait. Please.” Taking a deep breath, Morgana uttered: “I am not here to harm Arthur. I came to see YOU.” Unbidden and against his will, Merlin’s heart skipped a beat as he remembers the crush he once had on Morgana—the flowers he left in her room, the joy he’d felt at their magical connection before all had been lost.

“Why should I trust you?” he spat out. “There is no reason for me to believe any word you say.” Morgana’s presence seemed to fade at this, and she sighed. In a tiny voice choked with sorrow, she said,

“You are perfectly right, Merlin. What I did to you was unthinkable, and I understand that you may never forgive me. I…I am serving penance for my past life, and…and I want to do good here, now, in this strange modern era. I wish to help you.”

“Why would you help me? Why do I need your help?” he asked, excruciating hurt in his face and voice. “I admired you, I trusted you, I loved you, and you betrayed me. You betrayed us all.” A look of pure anguish suffuses her face at these words and she sobs bitterly before choking out:

“You must find a throne for Arthur in this era, and gather the knights both old and new. I wish to aid you, to atone for all the grievous wrongs I have done. I shall return to you, Emerys the Great, until I am ousted or you no longer have need of me. Farewell.” Her voice quieted and her form faded, leaving Merlin alone once more in the mist and fog.

Merlin awoke with his face wet with tears and his eyes stinging. He sat up in bed and clasped his hands around his knees. He knew not to trust Morgana, but in his secret heart he longed to believe that she could have changed. If only he could talk to Kilgarrah the dragon…or Gaius…but neither of them could help him anymore. The dragon had completely disappeared, and as far as Merlin knew, Gaius wasn’t in line for another life. But this vision made Merlin feel young and inexperienced again, like he felt in his first century. Maybe he could talk to Arthur, but he wouldn’t know what to say: ‘Morgana’s entered my mind again’? ‘She’s back but she says she wants to help us’? Neither of these comments felt right. Merlin sighed. He didn’t know what to do.

***

“Well, you look like hell this morning, Merlin,” Arthur commented as the warlock descended into the back room of his shop. Merlin glared at his friend. Arthur smirked with raised brows and continued… cooking? Merlin’s eyes widened in astonishment. He had a tiny kitchen in the back of his shop, but he’d only cooked on it once while Arthur was there—just to make a fried egg sandwich on the evening that the king had first come. Apparently Arthur had paid attention to this, because he was now trying to do the same. Merlin’s heart swelled, and he smiled back at Arthur before saying,

“Mind you don’t burn the edges, and you’ve got to keep the pan straight to avoid spilling.”

“Oh. Right.” Arthur shifted, putting the kitchen dishrag he held over his bare left shoulder, and concentrated on cooking.

“Where’s Gwaine?” Merlin asked, leaning past Arthur to put on a pot of tea. Arthur shrugged.

“I have no idea. He SAID he was going to get something to ‘sweeten our meal’—whatever that means.” Merlin rolled his eyes.

“He’ll probably bring back a couple of tavern wenches for us.” Arthur whirled at this, almost braining Merlin with his pan. “Whoa, Arthur! Calm down, will you? You’re splattering egg everywhere!”

“I can’t believe you just said that, Merlin,” the king grumbled as he placed the pan back on the burner. 

“C’mon, Arthur, we both know Gwaine. You know that’s something he would do,” Merlin can barely keep a smile from his face. Arthur tries to look stern, but then he busts out laughing. Merlin joins in. In the light of day, his dream has faded and seems less malevolent. Morgana’s presence is unimportant. Besides, it’s not like she was physically standing over Merlin in his bed, begging to help. She wasn’t—she couldn’t be…it must’ve been magic that projected her presence, right?

“Earth to Merlin! Hey, your egg’s ready.” Arthur waved his arm in front of Merlin’s face. “Damn, you do look terrible. Didn’t you sleep last night?” Merlin nodded and stood up to get a teacup. He poured, took a sip, and closed his eyes. The tea needed to steep more, but that wasn’t the most pressing problem. He wanted to tell Arthur about his dream, but he wasn’t sure if the king would believe him…and if he did, what would that knowledge do to him? “MERLIN!” Arthur yelled, breaking Merlin’s train of thought. “Jeesh, you’re starting to scare me. What is wrong with you today?” Merlin took a bite of egg before he answered.

“I had a bad dream.” He took another gulp of tea and continued eating, waiting for Arthur’s response.

“That’s what this is about? How bad was it?” Arthur questioned. “Did you have a ponition, or whatever that is—where you saw the future? Is something bad going to happen to us here?” Merlin rolled his eyes and sighed.

“It’s called a PREMonition, Arthur. And no, not exactly.”

“Then what was it? If you start giving me the run-around, I’ll hit you with this spoon.” He held up the utensil he’d used to flip the eggs. Merlin shuddered.

“Ugh, not again. That really hurt when you whacked me with that silver spoon! Okay, okay. I—I had a vision of Morgana.” Arthur leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. Uh-oh, Merlin thought. Here it comes. What, he didn’t know, but—

“I have dreams about her too,” Arthur said softly, startling Merlin. “I see her atrocities, and—and I see her as she was before, when she lived at the castle, when she was like my sister. And I still can’t reconcile—” he shook his head, almost a flinch. “I see her death, and I wonder, was it worth it? To do all those horrible things just to kill me? Did she ever get her satisfaction? Did she get her revenge?!” He is shaking, his hands covering his face and his elbows pressed into the tabletop. Merlin gulps tea and debates whether to tell Arthur anything else. No. It can wait. He’s already in a fragile state and needs to be comforted.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, leaning across the table toward his friend and gripping his shoulder. “I don’t believe that she wanted revenge on YOU. She was utterly consumed with hatred for Uther, and that spilled over onto you because you are his son. Her decency and passion overwhelmed her and made her crave revenge, but I do not believe she was evil. When I stabbed her, in the end….” He gulped. Arthur was still, listening. He had lowered his hands. “In her final moment, she looked anguished, horrified at all she’d done.”

“But you don’t know this for sure. You can’t—unless your sorcery consists of powers over the mind?” Arthur whirled, and Merlin scooted back and shook his head.

“No, it doesn’t. But—” He hesitated. Will Arthur be able to handle the truth?

“What is it, Merlin?” 

“She came to visit me. Last night. In my dream. It—it was more like a vision. I saw her shrouded in fog.” There. He’d said it. Now for—

“What?! What are you talking about?”

“She—she spoke to me. I turned away after swearing that I would not allow her to destroy your life this time around. Morgana called me back, telling me that she was serving penance for all that she’d done, the unthinkable deeds….” he gulped a breath. “And she said she wants to help me—you—us to gather knights and subjects so that you may once again be king.” Arthur turns away, his fists clenched.

“I suppose she’s not gonna ask the subjects nicely?” he spat. “She’ll probably make them her slaves, so that at the right time they will rise against us. That is so, right, Morgana? She wants to HELP! Ha! I hope you told her where to go.” Quietly, Merlin said,

“I think—she’s already there.” This comment sobers Arthur up quickly. He leans over the table with his knuckles resting on it and takes a deep breath as if to preface a comment when Gwaine saunters in smiling with what looks like lipstick on his face. “Oh there you are—good morning, Gwaine!” Merlin says. Gwaine winks and puts down a container on the table. “Did you have breakfast already? I can see someone gave you a morsel of affection,” he motions to the knight’s cheek. Gwaine feels it and licks his fingers.

“Ah. Well, no. I told you I was going to sweeten our meal, didn’t I?”

“Sweeten it for yourself, or all of us? Are there any more ladies out there?” Merlin asks. Gwaine raises an eyebrow at Arthur.

“Can you believe this guy, sire? He immediately starts badgering me when I was only trying to help make breakfast!” Arthur grunts noncommittally. “What’s with him?” Gwaine asks. Before Merlin can say anything, he continues: “And to answer your question, Merlin, I was picking strawberries for us. Had to eat a few on the way, they were so juicy. Maybe we can bake a tart or a pie.” Merlin raises an eyebrow in response and looks at his friend archly.

“How are we gonna do that? Gaius never taught me that kind of cooking.” Gwaine laughs.

“You forget I was a commoner, remember? Believe it or not, I didn’t spend ALL my time in taverns. My mum was a good cook. So were my aunts, who I lived with after my father’s death. And I’m sure Arthur learned some of the womanly arts from Gwen, eh, Your Majesty?” Arthur says nothing. His breathing is hard and his eyes are narrowed. Gwaine glances at him worriedly. “Was I gone too long? Sorry to have worried you so much, sire; I won’t do it again.” Merlin shakes his head at Gwaine.

“He’s not mad at you. It was something I said to him.”

“Ah.” Gwaine nods. “You two and your squabbles. Well,” he stretches and grabs a towel from a rod beside the door, “I am going to wash in the well out there,” he gestures out the back door, “And then I will come back and bake us a pie.” Merlin grins.

“Gwaine, you do realize that water is going to be freezing cold, right? Would you prefer a typical bath, or would you like me to boil the well water for you?”

“Ever the earnest servant, eh Merlin? No, leave it be. ‘Tis a nice day outside anyway. I’ll watch the wee burdies sing and the wild flowers spring as I bathe.” Merlin laughs and shakes his head at the knight fondly.


End file.
